Frodo in Rivendell
by Kyrthira Phelan
Summary: Frodo's thoughts while in Rivendell. First fanfic I've posted here; reviews are, of course, welcome.


A voice spoke to Frodo in the darkness. 'Lasto beth nîn, tolo dan na ngalad...' It meant something important, he knew. Oh, how his shoulder hurt! How...?  
  
Oh, that was right. Something had happened, at Weathertop. A bubble of fear tried to worm its way to the surface of his mind, and he fought it back with effort. Darkness, he remembered, fear ... and a burning weight on his chest. Yes, he'd taken off the Ring. But when he was being chased, by the Ringwraiths, he could almost see them as he had when he'd worn the Ring. Who was it that had rescued him?  
  
Had they been chasing after him, or trying to rescue him? As Frodo slipped back into unconsciousness, a small part of his mind whispered they _had_ been trying to rescue him...  
  
* * * * *  
  
Frodo's mind rose to wakefulness, but he did not bother yet to open his eyes. He felt both hot and cold, and his shoulder still hurt, but it no longer burned like fire. But, the weight on his chest...  
  
He reached an unsteady hand to the chain around his neck feeling for the weight of the Ring. His fingers brushed against it, and he felt a wash of relief. They had not tried to take the Ring -- _his_ Ring, he supposed. It was his now, after all, wasn't it?  
  
'Where am I?' he asked hoarsely.  
  
'You are in the House of Elrond,' a familiar voice answered, warm and friendly, and not a little glad to see him awake. 'And it is ten o'clock in the morning on October the 24th, if you want to know.' Frodo opened his eyes and saw the face of his old friend, Gandalf.  
  
He turned to look on the face of Elrond. 'Welcome to Rivendell, Frodo Baggins.' Frodo smiled, his face a mix of joy, relief, and a bit of fear. What would the Elf do with his -- _the_ -- Ring? The voice was familiar...  
  
* * * * *  
  
He came around a corner, and Merry and Pippin ran up to hug him. Mindful of his shoulder, of course, but still quite pleased to see him up and around again. His breath caught in his throat as he looked beyond his friends to the small, white-haired Hobbit on a bench, writing calmly in a book. Could Bilbo really have grown so old so quickly?  
  
Relief flooded through him, and he ran up to see him. As he looked at the map of the Shire that Bilbo had drawn on one page of the book, he felt a twinge of homesickness. He recalled his own adventure, and fought back the pain in his shoulder. Wasn't it healed yet, if he'd been here so long?  
  
* * * * *  
  
'Packed already?' he teased Sam, who just _knew_ he was forgetting something important, if he could only remember what it was ...  
  
At Sam's mention of 'home', Frodo fought another wave of homesickness. He showed the Ring to Sam -- how it got off the chain and in his hand he wasn't sure, it had started doing that, lately. 'The Ring will be safe in Rivendell.'  
  
Or Would it? How could he be so sure it was safe? it seemed to him that he might stay in Rivendell too, perhaps.  
  
'I _am_ ready to go home,' he spoke to Sam, almost as much to convince himself as Sam, and hoped his friend hadn't noticed the hesitation in his voice.  
  
* * * * *  
  
'The Ring cannot stay here.'  
  
Gandalf had feared to hear those words from Elrond. He had hoped, somewhat foolishly perhaps, that it could be possible. A solution would have to be found, then. A way to get it out of Rivendell, and out of Sauron's hands forever. The greatest servant of Melkor was becoming a danger yet again...  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Boromir below, in the courtyard..  
  
'It is in men we must place our trust,' he spoke to Elrond, trying to come up with an answer. Who _would_ he turn to when the last of the Elves were gone?  
  
'_Men_? Men are weak,' Elrond spat, his usual calm disturbed by his clear irritation.  
  
'It is because of men the Ring endures.' His eyes did not see the room; they saw a battle three thousand years past.  
  
'I was there, Gandalf ... I was there the day the strength of Men failed.' Elrond's vision returned to the present and briefly he cast his eyes to the floor.  
  
'There is no strength left in the world of Men,' A glimmer of hope, though, a possibility had edged into his mind, and would not leave no matter how he tried banishing it.  
  
* * * * *  
  
'Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom.'  
  
Elrond looked to Frodo, a patient but inarguable gaze. 'Bring forth the Ring, Frodo.'  
  
Frodo stood, and headed towards the stone table in the center of the Council. The Ring had found its way into his hand again...  
  
He felt the eyes of near twenty souls watching him as he approached. Elves, fair-haired so unlike here. Dwarves, and rumor had it the son of one Bilbo had gone adventuring with. And Men, from where he was not sure. Strider was well-dressed today, in finery. He looked so different. Those eyes, and it seemed almost another, watched him pace to the table.  
  
His hand raised, but it seemed to Frodo for a moment that he could not release his grip on the Ring. He forced the gold band to his fingertips, and set it down in the center of the table. It seemed to grow in weight right before it settled onto the stone.  
  
Gasps arose from the gathered Council at the sight of the Ring. 'So it is true,' a voice whispered as Frodo returned to his seat. The weight on him had grown suddenly, and he sunk into his chair next to Gandalf to breathe in a sigh.  
  
'It is a gift,' Boromir spoke, conviction and wonder in his voice. He knew the Ring could be used against Mordor. It would have to be done carefully, of course, so he would keep it safe from those who would steal it...  
  
'By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe!'  
  
Aragorn glared at Boromir. Perhaps true, he thought, but it was an arrogance of the Steward's son to say as much.  
  
'...the weapon of the Enemy! Let us use it _against_ him!' Again, the conviction in Boromir's voice was clear. It worried Frodo.  
  
'You cannot wield it!' a clear voice cried behind Boromir. He turned to see the Ranger looking sternly at him. 'None of us can.' Boromir frowned.  
  
'And what would a _Ranger_ know of this matter?' Boromir asked, walking slowly towards him. The man had the nerve to look him in the eye as if _challenging_ him!  
  
'This is no mere Ranger,' a musical voice returned behind him. Again, _behind_ him! It was like a battle when beset upon ass sides, and he turned to look on the yellow-haired Elf.  
  
Aragorn sighed. This was not necessary, nor was it keeping with the purpose of the Council. But there was little he could do about it ...  
  
'He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn,' Legolas continued, staring unblinking at Boromir. 'You owe him your allegiance.'  
  
Boromir paused, then turned his head to stare at the Ranger. Frodo looked at him as well, curiosity drawing his brows closer together. Aragorn, for his part, stared back at Boromir and dared him to denounce who might be his King. '_Aragorn?_' Boromir fought a laugh, betrayed only by a quirk of the right corner of his mouth. '_This_ ... is Isildur's heir?' He could not -- _would_ not -- believe someone of such ... dubious ... background could possibly be...  
  
'And heir to the throne of Gondor,' Legolas finished for him.  
  
Frodo stared at Aragorn in shock. Strider was a _king_? Uncrowned, obviously, but still. He had never expected as much from him, recalling tracking with him through woods, streams and mud, and had quite a difficult time picturing a king doing as much. Or picturing Aragorn as a king.  
  
Aragorn raised a hand. He'd allowed Legolas to deflate Boromir a bit, but this was just too much a reminder of something he'd rather not remember.  
  
'Havo dad, Legolas.'  
  
'Gondor needs no King,' Boromir said defiantly. Aragorn shook his head minutely, his thoughts confirmed. His own people did not want him...  
  
'The Ring must be destroyed,' Elrond spoke, and the weight on Frodo increased. He looked to the Ring, longing to take it back, to hold it again.  
  
His eyes widened as the Dwarf grabbed the axe next to him. The panic, desire to grab the Ring rose as he struck the Ring, and the axe shattered. An Eye flashed across his vision, worry and fear paralyzing him briefly, and he shook when it passed. A voice whispering something in his mind gave him ha headache, and Gandalf looked to him with concern. He looked at the Ring as Elrond spoke, fighting the desire now to put it on.  
  
'...the Great Eye is ever watchful.' Frodo tossed Boromir a worried look. What did he know of the Eye?  
  
As Men, Elves, and Dwarves fought over who should be the one to travel to Mordor, the voice in Frodo's mind grew louder.  
  
'Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul...'  
  
The other voices faded, as the edges of his vision. The Ring called to him to take it, while nobody looked, to slip it on whilst everyone argued and to away before he was noticed missing. The weight from above grew, his shoulders sinking, his head feeling heavier and heavier in his hand, the Ring calling for him to _take it!_  
  
'... ash nazg thrakatulûk...' The ring seemed to take on fire. '... agh burzum-ishi krimpatul...' The words echoed in his head, but he gathered his courage and stood.  
  
'I will take it!' he called, although it seemed nobody heard him. Elrond sat still in his chair, head bowed in disappointment.  
  
  
'I will take the Ring!'  
  
Gandalf paused in his retort to Boromir, closing his eyes in pain. The small Hobbit had already been through so much, enough to write his own book at such a young age. He could not be saying this. He willed it not to be so, that it was merely some cruel trick of his imagination, but turned to look at Frodo.  
  
'I will take the Ring to Mordor,' Frodo repeated, a bit uneasily. It seemed the simplest solution to him to ensure the safety of the Ring until at Mount Doom. He's surprised even himself by speaking, but looked several doubtful faces in the eye. 'Though, I do not know the way...'  
  
Gandalf moved to his side protectively. Strider bowed to Frodo, pledging his life and his sword.  
  
'And my bow,' Legolas announced, rising to join the growing company. He wasn't quite sure why, but it seemed right.  
  
'And my axe!' Never one to allow himself to be upstaged by an Elf, Gimli sprang up and walked to the Elf's side. Boromir joined, pledging Gondor's aid to the task.  
  
Elrond frowned in confusion when Sam sprang from the bushes to join in. He had to fight a smile as Samwise pronounced with loyalty and not a little finality that he was coming.  
  
Merry and Pippin looked at each other, across the Council from where Sam had hidden. If Samwise could do it, then...  
  
'Hey!' We're coming too!' Pippin announced as they dashed over to Frodo, Elrond staring at the Hobbits in consternation. Where were they all coming from, anyway? He almost wanted to look around for Bilbo, just in case.  
  
_One Hobbit's cheek..._ thought Merry. 'You'll have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us,' Merry spoke to Elrond as he skidded to a stop at Frodo's side.  
  
'You need people of intelligence on this sort of...' Pippin paused as he realized he couldn't think of the word. '...mission. Quest,' he added, supposing it really was a quest, one he was now hopelessly embroiled in. 'Thing,' he finished, just for something else to say.  
  
'That rules you out, Pip,' Merry whispered, and Pippin glared at him when he caught himself nodding. It was _his_ fault for confusing him!  
  
'You shall be the fellowship of the Ring,' Elrond announced. He may as well allow it, he somehow doubted even being tied in a sack would stop those three from coming.  
  
'Great. Where are we going?' Pippin asked innocently.


End file.
